A/N: A long chapter here. Don't own anything but the plot. Yeah, some fun FF7 characters involved.

…

Consolation and Conspiracy

…

"Oy! Oy there! Master Hojo!" Fat Palmer wheezed as he tried to catch up to the skeletal man who was striding down the hallways of the palace. Master Hojo was the head of the Bastion's mages, responsible for overseeing the training of the new mages, and also one of Prince Regent Ansem's closest friends. He turned around to face the fat man, who was one of his assistants. Palmer was a good deal older, pudgier, and more masculine than Hojo preferred his assistants to be, but the man would spy, backstab, and betray anyone, so long as Hojo kept his large rear end on a heavy paycheck. Palmer also served as the messenger boy regarding any and all issues regarding Hojo, and it was a frequent and amusing sight in the castle, the rotund man huffing and puffing as he hauled himself down a hallway, hollering after his Master.

Hojo raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Palmer, what is it?"

The fat man tried to catch his breath. "Ma- master, C- Count Valentine wishes to speak wi- with you."

Hojo sighed. So that insolent young fop wants to put my work under his moral microscope again, does he? the mage mused. I should ignore his summons, just to spite him. Unenlightened socialite.

Palmer tried to cough delicately in order to get Hojo's attention. However, in his current exhausted state, he ended up sounding much like a drowned frog.

"Don't be so crude, Palmer, you stupid man." Curse it all. He would have to see the Count. Hojo's friendship with Ansem would not be enough to protect him from the public backlash should he choose to offend so popular a noble. Hojo wasn't one of the commoners' favorite people, but Vincent, with his charming words and generous actions, certainly was. That's right. Vincent Valentine, the golden boy. Everyone's hero.

"Tell His Lordship I will attend presently."

Palmer's face fell, and he reluctantly heaved himself back down the hall, hoping he wouldn't fall dead from the exertion.

Hojo watched the man go, allowing himself a small, cold smile. There were some positive aspects of visiting the Count. One in particular caught his fancy.

…

"Vincent, darling, you really need to pay more attention to Society, I mean, I can't believe you've been a Count this long without knowing some of these people."

Said Count leaned back in his chair, an oblivious grin on his face. "Well, darling, that's what I have you for, now isn't it?"

Lucrecia Valentine smiled. "I knew there had to be some reason," she teased. Walking past his chair, she squeaked as he pulled her down into his lap.

"That's not the only reason, Countess," Vincent mumbled against her neck. Lucrecia giggled. "I love you, Count."

"And I love you…"

A sharp knocking on their chamber doors interrupted them. Vincent groaned, and tried to ignore the noise by burying his face in Lu's hair. She jumped up. "I really should see who it is, dear."

Her husband snorted. "It's Hojo; I can feel his unpleasantness seeping in under the door."

Lucrecia sniffed. "Really, Vincent, that's another thing you could work on. I mean, Master Hojo has never been anything but kind and wise. I should know; I mean, I was the one he trained. In fact, I'd be a mage now if I weren't a Countess."

"And big bully that I am, I made you choose." Vincent was teasing now, his dark red eyes sparkling. Lucrecia smiled and opened the door.

"Why, Master Hojo! So good to see you again."

Hojo smiled thinly at her. "And it is always a pleasure to see you, Lucrecia. How is the baby?"

Lu rubbed a hand over her belly. "Energetic. This little person wants out, and he's making no secret about it."

Hojo raised an eyebrow. "He? Then I take it you believe the child will be male."

Lucrecia smiled. "Call it mother's intuition."

"Now, now, Lucrecia," Hojo chided. "Surely you can't be serious…"

The Count came over to his wife and put his hands on her shoulders. Smiling his most charming smile through gritted teeth, he said, "No use arguing with her, Hojo. She's convinced it'll be a boy, and my wife is never mistaken." He put emphasis on the words "my wife", plainly telling Hojo to mind his own business. Lu shot her husband a somewhat annoyed look. Sighing, she brushed past Hojo on her way out the door. "I'll leave you two to whatever you need to discuss. I'm sure Shera would love to help me go over these plans for the Festival."

"Don't be late, darling," Vincent reminded her. "We have dinner with his Highness this evening."

"I won't," Lu called over her shoulder, striding surprisingly gracefully down the corridor towards the palace exit. Hojo stepped into the Count and Countess's spacious chambers, bowing curtly to Vincent. The taller man only raised an eyebrow. "So, what can you tell me about the state of the new Guard Recruits? You have tested them for magicks, haven't you?"

Hojo nodded, while inside he was seething at Valentine's condescending tone. He began to relate his findings.

"Well, Recruits Patil and O'Rourke have shown some potential. Hardly enough to bother with, but if properly trained…"

….

Shera sighed, leaning against the sink in the café's kitchen. Tifa's mother had taken Reno home so he could get some sleep. The boy was unresponsive, following Mrs. Lockhart meekly as she took him by the hand, not quite the rebellious, annoying kid he had been a few days ago. Numb with grief, Shera figured. Tifa had taken over running the café for the day, with Quistis pulling a double shift and big Barret behind the bar. Thus ensuring they'd have no problem with any customer at all that day. At all.

Shera packed her picnic basket, putting in some extra cookies that Mrs. Lockhart had put aside especially for Cid as a bit of a thankyou for telling them about Reno's mother. As bad as the news was, they were all grateful, except for Reno, who was still out of it, that someone had remembered the boy and had cared enough to track him down.

That's my Captain, Shera thought fondly. He's only rough around the edges.

Of course, she'd never have the nerve to call him her Captain to his face, but it was her own little bit of selfishness, to think of him as belonging to her. At least in her own mind. It was a nice fantasy.

The clock on the wall chimed, and she realized that her Captain would be wanting his lunch, and was not particularly patient about food. She covered the food with the same checkered tablecloth she always used, and left the back room. She found Tifa taking payments from customers at the front of the café. Shera tapped her friend's shoulder. "I'm going. I'm supposed to meet Lucrecia afterwards, so maybe I'll stop in to check on Reno this evening."

Tifa nodded. "Tell Cid thanks. It couldn't have been easy for him to come here."

"I will."

Shera left the café and winced as the wind cut into her. Hopefully the town was experiencing its last burst of winter, or the Festival might be in some serious trouble. She made her way through the streets, where she bumped into a family friend. "Why, Tseng! How are you?"

The tall guard smiled warmly. "Good, good. I'm just on my way back to see if Lady Yuffie is ready for her riding lesson yet." He was leading a large yellow bird by a harness around the neck. Shera grinned sheepishly, remembering when Tseng had tried to teach her how to ride a chocobo about a year ago. She had given up three weeks after begging the older boy to instruct her on chocobomanship, and he hadn't stopped teasing her about it yet. "Is she better at it than I was?"

Tseng's grin took all the sting out of his reply. "One would hope so."

The chocobo was beginning to snort and claw at the ground, so Tseng decided he'd better be going. "Will I see you tonight, at dinner?"

Shera nodded. "Yes. I'll be there with the Valentines."

Tseng raised an eyebrow. "Surely you don't want to be a third wheel. Why not just come with me? We haven't really talked in a while, and Yuffie enjoys your company."

Shera smiled. "I would love to."

Tseng nodded. "Then I'll pick you up at seven?"

"Sounds good."

Tseng offered a small bow. "Then I will see you then."

"All right."

Tseng strode down the street, chocobo reins in hand. Shera entered the workshop, expecting to find Cid with his upper body stuck under some kind of machine or involved in some gadget he was fixing. However, the first thing she noticed was how empty the front room was. Something wasn't right. He had to be here, because Cid always locked the door when he went out.

"Captain? Captain, are you here?"

Shera walked through the front room and through the door to the tiny compartment that served as a storage closet and bedchamber for those days the Captain was too exhausted to climb the stairs to his rooms on the second floor.

She found him there, sitting on the small cot, holding his head in his hands. Shera approached him cautiously. "Captain?"

He didn't respond. Shera gingerly sat down next to him and lightly placed a hand on his shoulder. Cid turned his face to look at her. He looked tired, and if Shera didn't know better, she'd have said he had been crying sometime in the last several hours, judging by his puffy eyes.

"Are you all right?" she whispered, almost afraid to hear the answer. Cid grunted, "Fine. Just damned dandy."

"Do you want to talk about it? I mean, it might make you feel better or something. But if you don't, it's ok, I mean, I understand, and if you ever need somebody or think that you might want to get this off your chest, I think I can help, I mean, if you want me to," Shera babbled. It was slightly scary to see him this vulnerable. She had no idea that seeing Reno's mother's corpse would have that effect on him. The Captain had seemed fine that morning. A little depressed, but otherwise fine. She opened her mouth to try to comfort him, but he put his hand over it.

"Shut up, Shera. Just shut up," he muttered, and Shera felt surprised and a little annoyed at the same time. Surprised that he had used her first name, and annoyed at him telling her to 'shut up'. How was she supposed to make him feel better if she couldn't say anything?

Timidly she removed his palm from her face, trying to ignore how warm it was, and turned to look him in the eyes. He just looked crushed, and it broke her heart. Nervously, Shera put her arms around his neck and drew him closer. She expected him to draw away, naturally, and to tell her to get out or to just leave him alone, but she needed to make sure he knew that somebody cared.

To her shock, he wound his arms around her waist and buried his face in her shoulder, holding her tight. He wasn't crying, but refused to let her go. Shera's heart was pounding like a drum as she tried to memorize the way he smelled (machine oil, nicotine, and…cinnamon?) and how his hair felt under her fingers (surprisingly smooth and soft). She instantly chided herself. He's in pain and you're acting like some opportunistic stalker!

They sat there for a while, tangled in each other's arms, head on each other's shoulder. Shera knew these moments would probably change their relationship forever. They had crossed a line.

She just hoped it had changed for the better.

Far too soon for her tastes, he lifted his head and loosened his arms, but didn't completely let her go. He didn't thank her. He didn't need to. Reluctantly, she took her arms from around his neck, and looked at the picnic basket at her feet. "I brought you lunch," she said unsteadily. He nodded, and released her from his now awkward embrace. Cid got up and walked back into the front room. Picking up the basket, she followed him.

They ate in silence, more so than usual even, until Shera took out the cookies. "Mrs. Lockhart made these for you," she said. "She wanted to thank you."

"Fer what?" Cid grumbled. "Ruining the kid's life?"

Shera stared blankly at him. "What? You gave him a sure answer, instead of letting him worry. The only person who ruined his life is the one who killed his mother. If you hadn't come, he'd be left to worry until someone decided he was worth the time to find. At least this way he knows. You did something good today, you know that?"

He chuckled mirthlessly. "Yer a funny one, kid," he said. "Ever think maybe it'd be better for him to be able to at least hope she was gonna stumble in one morning? S'what I'd've wanted."

Shera kept looking at him, curious. "What do you mean? Was your mother…I mean…is that why it bothers you so much?"

"Hmph. Funny and sharp. Yeh, ma died when I was his age. Stabbed by some drunk in a fcking alleyway."

He didn't elaborate. Shera reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. "Captain…"

He looked at her hand, small and pale against his broad shoulder. "We can't do this," he said sternly, moving her hand off him. Shera looked at him, big brown eyes confused. "Can't do what?"

He wished she wouldn't look at him like that. It made doing this harder. "This," he said. "You and me. Bad enough people see you comin' in here every day, but if anybody catches us like we were when you came over, yer daddy'll hear of it, and it'll be hell for us. So I figure, best thing is, we keep our distance for a while, less chance people'll suspect."

Shera couldn't believe her ears. He didn't want her around? That wasn't the question she asked, though. "Suspect what?"

Cid looked uncomfortable. "Ya know, that…well, ya know."

Shera did know, but she didn't want to make this any easier for him. "No, I don't. Suspect what?"

"That…maybe there's somethin' between us what's not just friendship. See there, I said it. Happy now?"

Shera didn't blink. "And is there?"

He wouldn't meet her eyes. "There can't be, Shera. And now I think you better go home."

Still not looking at her, he got up and walked into the back room, slamming the door shut. Shera sat there, trying to figure out what had just happened. Eventually, she stood up, packed up her basket, and turned to go. She stopped before opening the front door and took the bottle of tea out of the basket. She placed it on the shelf by the door and walked out.

He loved tea.

…

Shera walked the streets for a little while, not wanting to go back to her home, empty save for the servants, until she had composed herself a bit more. She couldn't understand why the Captain did what he did. Did he hate her?

Of course, realistically speaking, she knew why he told her to keep her distance. Shera knew as well as Cid did that people gossiped, and they had been talking about the fact that the daughter of a Baron always visited him at the same time every day. Rumors of a relationship between the two would no doubt start to fly, as Shera was coming of age. Cid's logic was without fault.

Didn't mean it felt any better.

Shera sighed. She needed to get her mind off him. She was late to meet Lu at the town square. Shera hadn't been planning on going at all, but since she'd most likely be doing work, she figured it would be a welcome distraction.

…

Lu sighed. She would wait for five more minutes, but if Shera didn't show up…wait, there she was.

"Where were you?" The pregnant woman demanded. Shera waved the question off. "Don't ask."

Lu found that curious, but didn't pursue the matter. "Well, now you're here, I need some advice on the color scheme for the Festival center."

"What have you got in mind?"

…

By the end of the afternoon, they had a tentative plan for the Festival center worked out, with a red, orange, and yellow color scheme. Lucrecia gave the plan to one of the Festival workers and smiled cheerfully at Shera. "Now all you have to do is design your dress!"

Shera supposed she should be excited. This was her coming out year, or the Festival closest to her 18th birthday. That would be the week she'd begin to get marriage proposals and serious suitors. Every girl who was coming out wore a red dress she designed and created herself, and all the young men in town attempted to hold their interest during the Festival dances, to better their chances when the girls began to consider wedding one of them. Lu was a firm believer in the 'magic' of the Festival for falling in love. After all, she and Vincent married only nine months after spending practically the entire Festival week together. Vincent had been competing with many young nobles and, rumor had it, Hojo as well.

Shera had drawn up some ideas for her dress, but after the day's events, the idea of prancing about, drawing the attention of a crowd of men-no, boys that she didn't care about in the slightest did not seem like something she should be anticipating. But hen, she figured she'd better get to work. The Festival was in a scant three weeks' time, and Shera knew her duty was to be there and to be pleasant while doing so. And Shera Leonhart always fulfilled her duties.

The feel of strong arms and the scent of cinnamon crossed her mind, and she realized that sometimes she wished she had the courage not to.

…

He was a fuckhead. Plain and simple, no way around it. He screwed up. Cid was in a terribly bad mood for the rest of the day with those thoughts running circles in his head.

First I have an emergency cuddle session with the kid, 'cuz apparently I can't handle my own problems, and then I reject her? Way to send mixed signals, assface, he thought. Of course, it coulda been worse.

I coulda kissed'er or somethin'.

Thinking that was a bad idea. Thinking that made him wonder what kissing Shera would be like. Wondering what kissing Shera would be like made him think about running his fingers through her hair. About looking in her eyes, with those abnormally long eyelashes. About that smile, those lips (What would they taste like?), and soon he was driving himself crazy.

This was bad. She hadn't been gone for a full day and he couldn't stop thinking about her. And there was no chance she'd be back, after all he said to her. Being Shera, she naturally would follow his suggestions to the word. She probably thought he hated her. God, what had he done?

Panicked. He had panicked like a fucking coward. He didn't tell her to keep her distance because he was afraid of her father. Cid had told her to stay away because he was afraid. Afraid of his feelings. Holding her…it had felt good. Cid was immediately suspicious of anything that made him feel too good. You lose control when you get too attached to those feelings. And you get hurt when you lose control.

Besides, Shera was having her coming out this year, wasn't she? She'd be married by this time next year, so attempting any type of relationship was futile. He'd be setting himself up to be hurt. And Cid wasn't willing to take that chance.

But sometimes he wished he had the courage to.

…

That night, a selective group of young nobles were to be the dinner guests of one Prince Rufus, son of the late King Shinra. Shera waited at the door to her family's spacious town home for Tseng. Squall was on his way out the door to fetch Rinoa. He grinned at his sister as he passed her. "Don't let Tseng pull anything on your way up," he smirked.

Shera laughed at that. "Could you imagine Tseng pulling anything on anyone? He's always the gentleman."

Squall laughed. "It would be a funny sight."

Shera watched her brother stroll down one of High Bastion's elegant streets towards Rinoa's home. She was happy for him. The two of them seem to suit each other well.

She saw Tseng, dressed in his fine-fitting ceremonial guard uniform, hop up the steps to her home. She stepped out the door and curtseyed to him slightly. He smiled and took her arm. "You look lovely tonight," he said, as one friend to another. Shera supposed they made quite the quaint couple, the tall officer with a lady in gray on his arm.

The dinner was held in a small, ornately decorated room off of the Grand Hall. Besides the Leonharts and their respective dates, the Valentines and the Turks were in attendance. Elena and Rude, the Turks in question, were seated on either side of the Prince. Tseng took a seat next to Elena, who smiled warmly at him. It was common knowledge among the guard that the girl had a large crush on him, but they remained 'just friends'.

The conversation at dinner was polite and witty. The Brat Prince, in particular, was a skilled conversationalist. According to Squall, this was because, "Everyone needs to have one talent."

Said prince used his skills to bring up an issue that had been bothering him. "Vincent, in your opinion, has my dearest uncle been somewhat out of sorts lately?"

Vincent swallowed the food he had been chewing. "Now that you mention it, Ansem has been edgier as of late."

Rufus leaned in. "Perhaps affairs of the crown?"

Vincent kept his tone neutral. "I really couldn't say, Rufus."

The prince nodded. "Oh, to be sure. But don't you think that perhaps I could relieve him of some of those burdens I'm sure he's under? Perhaps even all of them, dare I say?"

"What you are saying somewhat reeks of treason, Your Highness," Tseng gently admonished. Rufus looked at his friend and mentor. "Yes, I know. Elena, is this room safe?"

Elena, the magick user of the Turks, nodded. Rufus, knowing he was among loyal friends, became slightly looser of tongue. "He's beginning to worry me," the prince confessed. "In fact, I'm not sure he won't make a bid for the crown himself in the next year."

Shera started. She had no idea Ansem would be so bold. Maybe Rufus was overreacting. Vincent, however, nodded calmly. "Perhaps."

"But he'd need an army. I mean, surely the Guard would never follow a usurper."

Laconic Rude raised a hand. "That is true, but I wouldn't put anything past him."

Rufus sighed. "What I'm asking is: Do I have your allegiance, should the worst come to pass?"

Tseng immediately thunped his hand on the table. "You have mine, Your Highness."

Elena and Rude made the Turk salute, right hand on left shoulder. Vincent clapped his second cousin on the shoulder. "I'm with you, Rufus."

All eyes were on the Leonhart siblings. Squall nodded grimly. "Me too."

Shera smiled nervously. "I'm not sure what use I'd be, but you have my allegiance."

Rufus grinned. "Very good."

…

Ansem strode through the Waterways. He had an appointment to keep, and luckily his nephew was too busy with his little friends to bother him. Ansem's experiments had been largely unsuccessful, and as the creatures were becoming more demanding, he couldn't afford another incident like the Chaucer woman's corpse being found by a commoner. He had to enlist some help from an old friend.

"You're late," said old friend smirked, at the door to one of the old studies.

"Yes, well, we just had some new developments," Ansem answered. "So when can we get started?"

Hojo grinned. "Now."

…

A/N: Ooo…spooky. Review. Please.